


the strongest truth

by ohwhatagloomyshow



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Family, Female Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwhatagloomyshow/pseuds/ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurora holds her and cries with her, and again there is a strongest truth in the pit of her stomach:</p><p>This is the person she loves most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the strongest truth

**Author's Note:**

> I said in my other Maleficent fic that, while I definitely think that Aurora and Maleficent are lesbian queens of the Moors, I struggle writing them as such because I identify so strongly with their relationship and my own relationships with my mother and my aunt. This is my love letter to them--a love letter to female friendship and support overall, I think.

It takes hours of negotiation to end the battle in the foyer: even when it is known that the king is dead and his heir demands the attacks on Maleficent and Diaval to end, the iron-tipped spears and arrows still point at the winged woman. Day is breaking before the final flames fade, and when Aurora agrees to meet with the Head Advisor in a few hours’ time, the trio finds itself on the path back to the Moors. 

While fairies can heal easily from a quick touch of iron, prolonged contact has left gruesome burns and scars across Maleficent’s body, the parts that can be seen through the tears in her leather. She sighs with every step, cradles her side carefully. Diaval asks if she needs a horse again but she shakes her head—and there is some life in her, after such a long night, when she says she wants to fly. They agree to meet at the hot spring in the Moors, for the water had been enchanted with lavender some years after the Second Great War for fairies wounded from iron. Even with their feet aching, Aurora and Diaval gladly make their way down the path, eager for a long rest before the next day. 

The sun begins to peek over the border mountains when they arrive at the spring, half a league from the enormous lake in the center. Aurora removes her shoes as Diaval strips completely, sighing in relief at the hot water on his aching muscles, promising that there will still be plenty more relaxing to do once Maleficent decides to arrive. 

When she comes, Aurora has stripped, modestly, down to her shift, not wanting to soak without her. Maleficent gives a soft smile at the gentle selflessness of it. 

“I am glad you waited—I’ll need your help, unfortunately.” She laughs a little—the first time ever in Aurora’s earshot, and it startles the girl for a minute. But Maleficent is distracted, gesturing Diaval over, who comes as he’s beckoned; Aurora looks at her feet. 

“I didn’t expect this—you see, I can’t—I can’t get this shirt off, now, with my wings. Could you help tear it away?” They all grin at it, in their private hilarity, and Diaval nods graciously as she turns him back to a raven. He tears at the leather and she gasps a bit as his beak and claws break her skin along the way, but the leather splits and Aurora helps pull the useless fabric from her bloody shoulders and away from the wings. 

When she backs away and Diaval is returned to a man (almost immediately running back into the spring), Maleficent sheds the leather pants and it is the first time Aurora has seen a grown woman. She blushes fiercely at her thighs, at the back of her calves, and when Maleficent turns to gesture her into the hot spring, she avoids looking at her breast. 

It is only when the woman is distracted with Diaval that Aurora can bring herself to hastily rip off the shift and duck into the steaming water, almost screaming as she tries to sit and cover herself as quickly as possible—which startles them both into staring at her. It’s something of a surprise when neither of them glance anywhere but her face, as she ducks to hide her breasts and pelvis with her arms and hair. 

“Too hot?” The words are surprisingly innocent in Maleficent’s mouth and they soften her, comfort her into nodding and releasing her body slowly, and easing into the water without the careful care to cover herself. She still sits with her ankles crossed and knees to her chest, but her shoulders are relaxed and she leans her head back against the rocks as the water soothes the soles of her feet. 

“This hits the spot, Mistress,” Diaval sighs in relief, and the women murmur their agreement. 

The sun has crested the mountains by the time Aurora brings her head back up. She sees the spring as it is: subdued and dark as the rest of the Moors are, it is beautiful in their eerie atmosphere. The trees are weeping willows with few leaves; the rocks are austere and the spring creates a mist that weaves its way through every nook and cranny. The spring itself is large, longer—she estimates that it is an imperfect circle, about Maleficent's wingspan the entire way around; were she to edge her way to the middle she suspects it would be deep enough to drown in, easily. It’s a marvelous spot and she’s glad that it’s empty, glad that it is only them who need the healing waters. 

Diaval’s yawn brings her back; he requests his wings in order to sleep, and Maleficent, lazily, grants his wish. Her wings are out of the water, and she leans back, the water only going up to her hips so as not to wet the feathers, which are spread out as far as they will go. Her breasts are large and hard to avoid looking at; it makes Aurora cross her arms around her legs, self-conscious. 

Maleficent chooses that moment to look up, to look over with a soft smile. “ _Finally_ he’s gone.” It’s strange, to see her smiling so much. “Do you like the spring?” 

Aurora nods easily, returning the smile. “It’s beautiful.” 

Inexplicably, the woman simply shrugs, before she sighs and turns her attention to her wings. “I only truly started bathing once my—when my wings were stolen. They’re an enormous hassle to dry.” Her tone is light but the girl hangs onto every word. Maleficent takes a tawny feather between two long fingernails, and examines it. “They’re so hideous now—covered in dust. I thought the wind would fix that, but.” The sentence trails and dies its own death, and when the last syllable has been lost in the wind Maleficent raises her hands to her forehead, to her cap. She undoes it with a few complicated movements of her fingers, and Aurora can’t help the gasp as she removes the cover, and her brown hair tumbles to her shoulders. It’s horrendously lank and greasy, not washed in years, but with the hair to soften her features, Maleficent is almost _pretty_. 

She looks up in surprise at the gasp as she puts the cap behind her on the rocks. “Sorry,” Aurora sputters out in apology, regaining control of her expression. “I—I never suspected you had hair—this whole time—“ When she breaks off they laugh together at the absurdity of it, and Maleficent cups her hands around the greasy mess self-consciously. 

“I put it up at your Coronation and never thought to take it down.” She shrugs again, and edges her way deeper into the water. “But now,” and again her sentence dies unfinished as she edges her way farther into the spring, the edges of her wings dipping into the water. With her head up, she takes a large breath, and forces her body down, wings and all. 

Aurora shifts from her cramped place to peer through the clouded water, only just making out the shape of wings and hair. She can see rapid movement, which she assumes must be Maleficent’s hands through her wings and through her hair—and when the woman comes up, horns bright and shining, her wings are slightly disarrayed and her hair is a clean chaos. And Maleficent, truly, is smiling. 

When she opens her wings the water goes flying like rain. “Look at them!” she exclaims, flapping them heavily once or twice to clear them, to show that iridescent shine. “Look how _beautiful_ they are!” Aurora, on her knees, can only grin wider than she ever has, admiring the woman who is full of joy. The wings truly are a sight, brown and red to blue and black and nearly every color in between: with the sunlight of the new day upon them, they are a force to be reckoned with. 

“They’re absolutely beautiful, Godmother.” She can only murmur it as Maleficent returns to her spot, but at the name the woman turns. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says in a voice so soft it’s strange, “if you wanted to start calling me “Maleficent” instead.” She stands and waits, half-turned and dripping, waiting for acceptance. 

And Aurora shifts her spot on the rock, and nods, and murmurs, “Maleficent.” It makes the woman duck her head to hide her smile, and she takes a few steps closer to sit by the girl. As she sits Aurora notices that nearly all the iron marks have blessedly faded from view. 

Maleficent spreads her wings to dry in the rising sun, and they sit in silence as they listen to the birds awaken around them. 

She watches the woman sunbathe for what feels like an eternity: her wings and horns glisten in the sunlight, glorious and terrible and comforting. She shifts a little closer, wanting to touch but keeping herself under control. She thinks of those wings dusty and desperate locked in the glass case, and she forces herself to say it—she feels so comfortable here, and knows that if she does not say it now she never will. 

“My father stole your wings, didn’t he.” 

Her eyes do not even flicker beneath their lids at the statement; she is still, and remains so, for a very long time. Aurora ducks her head, considers apologizing for bringing it up and deciding that, if nothing is said by the time they leave the spring, she will. It’s none of her business, truly, bringing it up before Maleficent is ready to speak of it. 

So she nearly jumps from her skin when an answer comes from those red lips: “Yes.” Quiet and solid. Very, very tired. 

The realization is easy. “And that is why you placed the curse.” 

The woman sits up slowly, and turns to face her with her eyes wide open. “Yes.” 

Aurora puts her chin between her knees, and meets the piercing gaze, waiting for her to continue. When she does, the words are familiar. “There is—there _is_ an evil in this world.” Maleficent shifts, crosses her legs, and takes her time. “And I cannot protect you from it.” 

The pause gives her courage to speak. “When you said that before, you weren’t going to mention the curse, were you? You meant my fath—“ 

The quick shake of her head silences her, and Maleficent brushes her hair behind her ears as she considers for a moment. “Once, I did mean your father. But _he_ —he was not the problem. Your fa—“ She takes several moments here, interlacing her hands and resting them in her lap, looking down, searching for the best words. Searching for the strength to continue. “Your father was born poor, and accepted nothing less than the best. He let his greed and ambition run unchecked.” 

She hands her story over with many hesitations, searching for the best way to tell it. She neither cries nor yells, simply delivers the events across the water. “I do not know how he did it, but when I woke my wings were gone. I was in—it doesn’t matter. Aurora, you _must_ know how I regret what I did.” This is the first moment of emotion in her voice, and unconsciously the girl reaches out for her hand. Maleficent takes it, and squeezes hard. “My anger and my pain were my own problem, they should _never_ have been yours. And I am _so sorry_ for what has happened. I stole your parents away from you, I have ruined your life, and it will haunt me. I neither expect nor ask for your forgiveness, only for understanding of my foolishness.” 

She can hardly end the sentence before Aurora throws herself at her; she is crying by the time the arms are around her neck and back, beneath her wings. The girl grips tightly, even with the slippery water; their bodies are tight against each other as Maleficent holds on and begins to sob. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats and repeats against the golden head, stroking Aurora’s back until the girl is crying just as hard. 

Because it _hurts_. Because she has never felt so much hate and so much love, disillusionment and hope. Her stomach swirls with it all until all is overshadowed by one truth, the largest and the strongest: regardless of it all, Aurora loves her. Her mistakes in that moment do not matter—all that matters, all Aurora knows for certain is that she would do anything for this woman. A woman who has only tried to fight her way through a world that continually knocked her down, who hurt back because she hurt, and who loved so passionately that it killed. There is no one and nothing on Earth that Aurora trusts more in that moment than the woman in her arms. 

She releases Maleficent slowly to take her face in her hands; their foreheads lean against each other, Aurora’s fingers tracing her features with blind love and tenderness. When she pulls herself away, she encourages Maleficent’s neck to bend. 

“I forgive you,” she murmurs against the wet, dark scalp, placing a kiss. “And I love you.” It makes her cry harder, tears adding to a bit of sweat from the spring, and she places a second kiss on Maleficent’s part line. 

She feels the woman shiver beneath her, a disbelieving reaction to True Love’s Kiss, and suddenly the spring is golden. Maleficent’s hands, beneath the water, rise up and are shimmering with her magic; both look with surprise, until the woman’s smile mirrors the sun. 

With a soft cry, she throws her hands into the air, and the golden shivers shoot into the air and across the spring—across, Aurora believes, looking around in shock, the entire Moors. 

The weeping willows are the first thing she notices—the blossom. The grass is born anew and flowers bloom in crevices between the rocks. Maleficent stands, nearly knocking Aurora over with the force of her movement. 

“The Moors,” she murmurs, wings outstretched as she stands on tiptoes, as if she prepares to take flight. “They’re blooming—you’ve made them bloom, Aurora.” 

“I didn’t do anything.” Her voice is weak in the miracle of the rebirth, goes unnoticed as Maleficent starts to laugh, deeply and sincerely, until she has returned to crying, and sinks back into the water. Aurora holds her and cries with her, and again there is the strongest truth in the pit of her stomach: 

This is the person she loves most.


End file.
